


Westeros: 'Tis a Silly Place

by Kittles123



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-10 01:58:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittles123/pseuds/Kittles123
Summary: One-shots, drabbles, feelings.  I'm still basically incoherent after the past few episodes, so I'm sorry.  Things may get silly in here.Ch. 1: J/B post Season 8 Episode 3Ch. 2: Bronn pops in at Winterfell, post Season 8 Episode 3Ch. 3: OMG YMB (1/4)- post season 8 ep 4Ch. 4: OMG YMB (2/4)Ch.  5: OMG YMB (3/4)Ch. 6: OMG YMB (4/4)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Jaime/Brienne post Season 8 Episode 3. Unbeta'd. Not so silly but not much plot either :)

Wherever You Go

 

 

They’d won.  Somehow they’d overcome the insurmountable odds and defeated the army of the dead.  Brienne had seen death before, but never the living dead. It was something she would never forget, but she hoped that in time the wounds would begin to scab over, and she would learn to live with them.

Jaime had not left her side since the battle.  They’d even gone to the baths together. He’d let her go first as he held her fresh clothes, then they’d swapped and she’d done the same for him.  They’d napped together in Tyrion’s large chambers after discussing the next steps in the rebuilding of Winterfell with him, Brienne nodding off in a plush sedan and Jaime falling asleep face-down on Tyrion’s bed.

Now, as the feast died down, she was beginning to nod off in her chair when Jaime held his hand out to her.  He smiled at her, a bit of the old twinkle in his eyes, something she hadn’t seen since before the horns had sounded, signalling the beginning of the battle.

“Come, let’s go to bed.”  Jaime said it so naturally that Brienne didn’t think twice, only took his hand and followed him out of the feast hall.  Not a soul noticed, everyone having clustered into their own little group to drink away the memories for a night, to mourn the dead and to celebrate life.

Once they reached Brienne’s quarters, Jaime stoked the fire then stripped down to just his pants, his chest bare.  She took a moment to look at him, his muscles flexing in the firelight, covered with old scars and fresh wounds that were only just beginning to heal.  He took his time evaluating the fire in the hearth and then added two more logs to it, placing them carefully just where he wanted. Brienne shed her own clothes, keeping on her pants and her undershirt.  Everything about this seemed so normal, so natural, as if they’d done it a million times before.

They climbed into bed and positioned themselves back to back, just as they’d fought, and Brienne felt her body finally relax.  She could feel Jaime breathing behind her, his chest rising and falling against her own, and the heat of his body was so real and so alive.  Tears pricked at her eyes and she focused on the flickering flame of the fire. It soothed her, just as watching the waves crash into the rocks back on Tarth had when she was young.

Her eyelids grew heavy and she nestled down into the pillow, and in doing so she bumped her shoulder blade into Jaime’s own.  She’d thought he was already sleeping, but he stirred at the movement and then suddenly he rolled over and wrapped his arm around her waist, nestling his chin on her shoulder so they were nearly cheek to cheek.  He was so close that she could hear him breathing, but it wasn’t enough. She burrowed back into his arms, her shirt riding up so their bare skin touched and at the contact Jaime let out a little murmur of what could only be described as happiness.  Brienne froze, but Jaime nuzzled into her neck, the stubble of his beard tickling her, and then his arm tightened around her waist, drawing his hips against her backside.

_ Oh gods. _  She felt him.  It was like the hilt of a sword pressed into her backside, and she could barely breathe.  That was… that was his… his....  _ His cock. _ _ Oh gods. _  So many thoughts raced through her mind, the most absurd of all being that she needed to protect it--protect him--in this vulnerable condition.  She loved him so much it fucking hurt, and all she could think to do was push back against him, sliding her hand around his backside and pulling him even tighter against her.

Jaime groaned, a strangled, halting noise from deep in his throat, and then he pressed his lips to her neck.  It wasn’t a kiss, but the beginning of one. His lips stayed right where they were against her skin, neither retreating nor pressing on.  Her heart raced, and then she decided to harness all that courage that lay within her, the courage that had given her the strength to face down an army of dead men, and she rolled over to face him, sliding her leg over his hip and pressing her cheek to his own.  His cock now lay nestled between her thighs, his bare chest pressed against the exposed skin above the neckline of her shirt, and then his hand slid down her back and gripped her ass, pulling her flush against him.

Their lips met, and it was as if they’d been born to it, her mouth giving ground as he advanced, and then she would push back, sucking on his lower lip because that’s what felt right.  His lips moved to her neck, then to her collar bone, and then finally to the laces of her shirt. He sucked on the skin there, over her breastbone, and suddenly her breasts tingled, yearning for his touch.  He kissed her nipple through the fabric of her shirt and she  _ burned _ for him.  She helped him shuck off her shirt, and then he stared down at her bared breasts as if they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.  Forgetting all her inhibitions, she arched her back, because  _ gods  _ she needed him to do  _ something _ .  She needed him to touch her, and he did.  He dropped his mouth to one taut nipple and sucked the bud into his mouth, massaging it with his tongue and her hands gripped his hair of their own volition.  The ache between her legs was growing to an unbearable level, and then his hand reached down to touch her there tentatively, applying pressure, exploring that most secret place.  She let out a strangled moan shuddered in his arms.

His cock pressed against her, and there was nothing she wanted more than for him to be inside of her, to feel him deep within her, for him to sheath himself in her.  She undid the tie of his pants and slid them down, her hands moving over his firm backside, and then he was completely naked before her. She looked down and gasped at the sight of him, hard and solid and  _ big. _  She’d never seen a man’s hardness before, and it was so sensual and raw, she could think of nothing but getting him inside her.

“I love you,” he breathed.  “I love you, Brienne.”

Her head spun, and she couldn’t form a coherent thought in her head.  Then she met his eyes and he looked so vulnerable, so bare and so full of hope, she mustered the courage to say it back.

“I love you, Jaime.”  She slid her hand around his cock and pressed her lips against his.  His tongue danced with hers as she moved to lay on her back and he positioned herself over him.  She relaxed her thighs apart slowly, savoring the feel of his body, of the sheer weight of him pressing down on her, and then she felt his head at her entrance.  She always thought that in this moment she would be nervous or even scared, but she wasn't. She just needed him inside her, and she was so wet and ready that he slid into her with ease.  It hurt some, but it was an exquisite pain, one she embraced. Then she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him all the way in, and he panted as he pressed his forehead against hers. He was in her, fully and truly, and what more could there be?

Then he started moving.  He thrust his hips, just a bit at first, grinding against her  Once she started moving with him, he slid further in and out of her, pressing deep into her each time, and after a minute or so, she felt something begin to build unlike anything she’d felt before.  Pleasure mounted, not from the outside, but from someplace inside her, someplace that only Jaime had ever touched, someplace she’d never imagined existed those times that she would slip her own hand between her legs.

She was getting close, nearing some precipice that she couldn’t quite grasp, and then Jaime’s fingers slid down to press against her swollen nub, and she screamed and bucked against him desperately as she crested that final peak she’d been driving for, and then he slammed his hips into her roughly and cried out her name.  She could feel him come inside her, his cock pulsing and heat filling her core.

She wrapped her arms around him and he nuzzled his face into her neck, his breath coming in rapid pants against her skin.  She pressed her lips to his forehead and ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed whatever his mouth came into contact with--her hair, her earlobe, her neck.

“Marry me,” Jaime muttered, and she couldn’t help but smile at him.  His cock was only beginning to soften in her, a strange feeling to be sure, and he was already proposing marriage.  Gods, she loved him, more than she’d ever believed possible to love another person. They’d fought together, nearly died together, and now they were going to get to  _ live  _ together.

“Of course,” she answered, and he proceeded to kiss her lazily for a time, moving from her lips to her breasts and then back, as if he were entranced.  Then he kissed her mouth once more and she wrapped her arms around him, anchoring him to her and her to him forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bronn comes to Winterfell, silliness ensues.

Jaime’s room at Winterfell wasn’t the biggest or warmest or best lit room, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.  He was lucky to  _ have _ a room after the damage that the castle had sustained during the battle against the Night King.  Brienne’s room hadn’t fared as well; in fact, it was completely gone, smashed at some point during the battle, probably by a dragon.  Fortunately, she’d had her most prized possessions on her at the time, that being Oathkeeper and her armor. And Pod, apparently. Jaime had seen the relief on her face when her squire had come running through the gates of Winterfell during the haphazard retreat.  She put up a good front, but Jaime could tell that she loved Pod like he as her own son.

Of course, there was a silver lining to this whole thing, and that was Brienne sleeping in his bed next to him.  She was sound asleep and completely naked under the furs, pressed up against his own bare skin. They hadn’t left one another’s side since the battle had begun, and she had come with him to his room afterwards without question.  It was as if they both subconsciously went everywhere together now, including to bed. And in bed, things tended to happen, especially after facing near-certain death with the woman you love.

He stretched his arms over his head and let out a big yawn.  Brienne was quite a sound sleeper when she felt safe; an aurochs could charge through the room and she wouldn’t even stir.  He had no idea what time it was, the sun had yet to fully rise after the Long Night, though a haze of pre-dawn light had crested the horizon once or twice.  Perhaps he would go to the kitchen and find something to eat.

Someone knocked on the door, and Jaime climbed out of bed and pulled on his pants.  Most likely it was Tyrion come to update him on something. He looked back at the bed before opening the door; Brienne was completely hidden under the furs.  It would have looked like a mountain of blankets piled on his bed but for the slow rise and fall of her breathing underneath.

Jaime opened the door and did a double-take.  It was Bronn and he was holding a giant crossbow in his hands.  His face was utterly expressionless.

“What the hells are you doing here?” Jaime asked in a confused voice.

Bronn’s eyes narrowed and he nodded down to the crossbow in his arms.  “I’m here to kill you,” he said, his voice deadpan and steady. A sudden chill ran down Jaime’s spine.

Then Bronn burst out laughing, his eyes dancing as he doubled over, hand on his knee.  It was only then that Jaime saw Tyrion standing off to the side, eyes bleary from drink.  Bronn stood back up, and he tried to catch his breath.

“Nah, I’m just fucking with you.  Your sister sent me to do it, but fuck that.  She even paid me in advance, the dumb cunt--sorry--but did she really think I’d do it?  Anyway, I’m a rich man now!”

“Our sister is insane,” Tyrion added and then before Jaime could think to stop them they both barged into his room.  Bronn put the crossbow down on the table and Tyrion climbed into a chair near the hearth.

“Where’s the wine?” Tyrion demanded.

Bronn took a glance around the room and Jaime’s heart leapt into his chest when Bronn’s eyes settled on the bed.

“They making you share a room?” Bronn asked, incredulous.  “Well I never thought I’d see the day. Jaime fucking Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock, highborn pretty boy, being forced to share quarters like a common foot soldier.”  Bronn flopped down in a chair next to Tyrion. “That’s a big fucker too, by the looks of it. Is that the Hound under there?”

“I need you both to leave,” Jaime said sternly, but Bronn and Tyrion weren’t listening.  They were filling their cups and getting comfortable.

“Bronn says he is fucking off to Essos,” Tyrion began.  “I can’t say I blame him, though we could really use his help in taking King’s Landing.  I know you have a conscience in there, Bronn, and its started leaking. Just give in to it and stay with us.”

“There is no fucking way I’m going anywhere near that city again.”

“ _Please_ _leave._ ”  Jaime grabbed Tyrion under the arm and began to escort him to the door.  Just then Pod, red-faced and panting, appeared in the hallway.

“I’m sorry Ser Jaime, I couldn’t stop them!  I tried. I didn’t want them to intrude on you and--”  Pod caught himself, but not quick enough.

Bronn’s mouth fell open and then his whole face lit up like it was Sevenmas morning.  He looked from Jaime to the bed and back to Jaime again, and then an indecent grin bloomed on his face.

“I fucking  _ knew it _ ,” Bronn crowed, but he kept his voice down now, not wanting to wake Brienne, and Jaime was grateful for that small kindness.

“Knew what?” Tyrion slurred.  “Oh, and Bronn, did you hear that Lady Brienne is now a Ser?  You really should offer your congratulations. Where is she?” Tyrion was met with complete silence.  Jaime couldn’t believe how clueless Tyrion could be sometimes, usually when he was drinking.

Thankfully, Bronn and Pod ushered Tyrion out of the room.  Tyrion grabbed the entire flagon of wine on his way out, and as Jaime went to close the door, he could still here Tyrion talking.  “Come to think of it, I don’t even know where her room is anymore. Her old one is gone, but it’s been nearly a week. Where has she been sleeping?  Wait… you don’t think that… BY THE SEVEN!”


	3. OMG YMB (1/4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Season 8 Ep 4, Brienne POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! I will have part 2 and 3 out today, promise! I thought this could stand on its own as a drabble though. I have enjoyed all the interpretations of Brienne's inner thoughts and feelings, hopefully you enjoy this one :)

Brienne stood in the courtyard for some time, letting the last shudders roll through her body until a cold numbness settled in her limbs.  Her chest felt heavy and weighted, like she was wearing her armor and not a woolen robe. It took a concerted effort to breathe, and even still she could barely move the air in and out.  Then, once her legs would obey her command, she shuffled back to her room. She felt like a fool for thinking that she would be enough, that she, Brienne the Beauty, would be enough for him.  With no strength or willpower left to even shuck off her boots, she lay back down on her--their--bed, and curled into herself. Oathkeeper hung by the fire, alone now without it’s sister sword, and then the tears came anew.

She dreamed of him that night.  They were making love, but he had long golden hair and two good hands that gripped her hips roughly, a cocky grin on his face.  Then he finished in her, looked down at her with dancing eyes and said, “the Maid of Tarth no more.”

 

When she woke, she felt more tired than she had before she’d gone to sleep, the memory of her dream playing at the edges of her conscious mind, anger and shame seeping into her thoughts.  Her body was heavy and she didn’t have the strength to move, let alone get out of bed. The sun shone through the frosted window, already risen well over the walls of Winterfell. It was well past time to break her fast, past the time she should have reported to Lady Sansa, and that duty alone is what finally got her to drag herself out of bed.  She put her armor on alone, but she could still feel Jaime’s fingers on her skin, like a trail of fire burnt forever into her flesh. Oathkeeper went around her waist and she gripped the pommel, steadying herself. She was a knight of the seven kingdoms; she’d sworn her sword to Lady Sansa; she would not default on that sacred vow.

 

Podrick was with Lady Sansa when Brienne arrived at her chambers.  They both looked up at her as if she’d caught them in the middle of something.  Pod gave her a weak smile, and Lady Sansa nodded to her. They’d been talking about her, Brienne had seen those looks before _.   _ They knew already.  Poor, oafish Lady Brienne.  Ugly as sin but with the tender heart of a maiden.  Jaime’s broken her heart and run back to his beautiful sister.  She grit her teeth together, anger taking the place of sadness.

“Good morning, Ser Brienne,” Sansa said, using her knight’s title.  “Podrick has informed me that Ser Jaime has left Winterfell. Do you know to what end?”

Brienne blinked.  He was going back to his sister, obviously.  How could Sansa not see that. Sansa quirked a brow at her, her delicate hands clasped neatly together at her waist.

“He’s returning to his sister,” Brienne said, her voice rumbling from deep in her chest.

Sansa’s lip twitched, then she looked at the ground and shook her head.  “Well, if you truly believe that, then why are you still here? Ser Jaime was my guest, but he was also not free to simply leave and return to the enemy.  He has intimate knowledge of the North and of Winterfell. He’s betrayed us.”

Brienne felt a flare of heat travel up her neck.  “Ser Jaime would never betray the North,” she said, nearly shouting, surprising herself.  “He is honorable and…and a good man.” She had to swallow down the wave of emotion, hearing those words come out of her own mouth yet again.

Sansa smiled then, as if she’d just won some game.  “You are so certain of that, yet you are so quick to doubt him when it comes to his personal loyalty to you, when of all things, that is his driving force.”

Brienne’s mouth dropped open just a bit.  Gods, Sansa was right. A lifetime of taunts and japes had made her quick to assume the worst, to assume she wasn’t good enough, to expect that even if she was given a brief moment of happiness, it wouldn’t last.  She knew there was something on Jaime’s mind, something like a shadow following him, but they’d never talked about it. Not until last night. But what had he really even said?  _ Have you ever run away from a fight? _

She had never run away from a fight, and she wouldn’t run away from this one either.  She would not let him get swallowed by this darkness, whatever it was, even if he didn’t want her at the end of it all.  She was a knight and she would not run away.

“Lady Sansa,” she said, squaring her shoulders.  “I request your permission to go to King’s Landing.  Podrick is more than capable of taking on the role of your personal guard.  He’s an excellent swordsman and fine young man.”

Pod smiled at her, his wide, closed-mouth smile, pride making him stand taller. 

“You have my permission, Ser Brienne,” Sansa said.


	4. OMG YMB (2/4)

Brienne rode hard, but Jaime had half a day’s head start, and he was great in the saddle.  She would never catch him, but she wanted to get to King’s Landing as soon as she could. The sky overhead was clear and bright blue, but it was still winter here. The wind whipped cold against her skin when the Kingsroad took her across open plains just past Cerwyn.  When she reached Barrowlands, their hills offered some protection from the wind, which was a nice respite. She didn’t allow her mind to wander much, especially to thoughts of Jaime. She would only drive herself mad trying to figure out what he was thinking, and she couldn’t afford be distracted while traveling the Kingsroad alone.

She was just approaching Moat Cailin when she saw him--a man on horseback, dark-haired and lanky wearing brown leathers.  It was the crossbow, large and ornate, slung across his back, that gave him away. Jaime had told Brienne about his and Tyrion’s run-in with Bronn at a tavern in Winter Town.  Brienne had been irate that Jaime’s life had been threatened. Jaime had managed to calm her down, and after that, he’d also managed to get his mouth between her legs. Brienne felt a flush creep up her neck.   _No, that’s all over now.  Stop._  It suddenly occurred to her that it was quite strange that Jaime was returning to his sister’s side in her hour of need when she’d just sent a sellsword to kill him...

But that wasn’t important right now.  She had some words for Bronn, but she needed to get the drop on him.  She didn’t need him aiming that crossbow at her next. So instead of approaching him directly, she followed behind him, keeping just far enough back to not attract his attention.  He seemed to be sitting low in the saddle, swaying a bit. Perhaps he’d been drinking, thinking himself safe; more fool him.

Bronn pulled off the road and down a short game trail that opened up into a clearing.  The remnants of a fire still smoldered in the center. Brienne got as close as she could without giving herself away, and then waited until he’d dismounted and was crouching down to get the fire going again.  Then she unsheathed Oathkeeper and rushed him.

Bronn stood but hadn’t even gotten to turn around to fully face her when she tackled him to the ground.  He looked up at her and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak--or worse, grab the dagger that he kept at his back--she smashed Oathkeeper’s hilt into his face.  Blood poured from his nose, but he still struggled, so she pounded the pommel into him one more time, opening up a gash on his forehead.

He lay gasping for air, sputtering on the blood that was seeping into his mouth, as she ran her hand down his side, searching for his sword and dagger.  She found them both and threw them into the bushes.

“What are you doing, you crazy cunt?” Bronn growled.  “Get the fuck off me!”

“Shut your mouth and listen to me, or I will open up your throat ear-to-ear.  I know what you did. I know you threatened Jaime and Tyrion. If you ever harm them, I will find you,” she hissed, and she leaned down, pressing her forearm across Bronn’s throat.  “I will find you, no matter where you go, and I will make it so you come to wish you had never crawled out of Flea Bottom.” She flipped him over onto his chest and put her knee between his shoulder blades, then pulled one of the leather laces out of her own gambeson and bound his wrists together.

When she got off of him, Bronn rolled out his back.  His eyes were closed, and dirt was stuck to his face where it had been bloodied.  Inexplicably, he had a smile on his face.

“So, does Jaime like it this rough too?  Always thought he might,” he crowed.

Brienne’s eyes went wide and a blush swept up her neck to her cheeks.  She moved her lips, willing her mouth to speak, but her voice wasn’t working quite right.  Before she could get her wits back, Bronn went on.

“I was fed up and pissed off, alright?  I’m a sellsword; I’m not supposed to make friends with my clients, but I guess I did.  Those boys kept promising me more and more stuff while I did all their shit work for them.  I went to Dorne and nearly died of poison; I went to Highgarden and nearly died in dragonfire.  And what do I get? I get left behind with their crazy bitch sister while Jaime runs off in the middle of the night.  Barely kept my head attached to my neck the first few weeks after that. I set up that meeting between him and Tyrion, you know.  Cersei didn’t like that.”

Brienne frowned as Bronn sat up, hands still behind his back.  “Now my question for you is, what the fuck are you doing? Where’s Jaime?  I thought you two had set up house in Winterfell.”

“Jaime left.”   _Jaime left me._  That’s what she had been about to say.  “He’s going back to King’s Landing,” Brienne said, then added in a wavering voice, “to Cersei.”

“Ah, fuck that.  And I can only assume that you’re following him down there so he doesn’t get himself killed?  You two, for fuck’s sake.” Bronn shook his head as if Brienne had just told him something ridiculous.  “Anyway, are you going to untie me? I need to build this fire and make supper. I’m not going to fight you, Brienne.  There’s a very good chance I’d lose. And if you want to get into the Red Keep, you’re going to need some help. I know that city like the back of my hand.”

Brienne opened her mouth to protest--Bronn was the _last_ person she would trust--but he cut in before she could say anything.

“Now I know, why should you trust a shifty old sellsword like me.  Well, you don’t have to. But I don’t just kill people for fun, and there’s no bounty out on your head yet.  Besides, I’m a softy at heart; I want to see true love conquer all.”

“True love?” Brienne scoffed.  “Don’t mock me.” She would keep him bound, possibly gagged, for the night, and then see how she felt in the morning about him.  Now was not the time to make that decision. And she needed to sleep without worrying about Bronn knifing her in the middle of the night.

“Yes, true love,” he said and hopped to his feet, quite nimbly considering his arms were bound.  “He’s been mooning over you since Riverrun, maybe even before then, I don’t know. He’s the biggest fool I’ve ever seen, but he’s hopelessly in love with you.  He didn’t go down there to stand at his sister’s side. Not a chance. If I know Jaime, he went down there to do something stupid.”

“What do you mean?  You mean he’s going to…?”  Brienne’s heart thumped wildly in her chest and a sliver of hope crept into her mind.  If Jaime wasn’t going down there to be with his sister at the end of it all, then that must mean...

“Aye,” Bronn said, “He’s going to try to talk his mad-as-fuck sister into surrendering, and I think we all know how that’ll work out.”

“She’ll never surrender,” Brienne said.

“Not a chance.  And when that doesn’t work,” Bronn shrugged, “well, we all know what Jaime did to the last Mad King.”

Brienne’s stomach dropped.  The thought of Jaime having to kill his own sister, no matter how horrible she was, made her heart break all over again, but this time it was breaking for him.  Then an overwhelming feeling of despair struck her, and she felt her face scrunch up, tears threatening to spill. Jaime would never survive this. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the tears from coming.  She would not let Bronn see her cry, but it was too late, her expression was enough.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, stop it,” Bronn snapped as he came to stand before her.  He was shorter than Jaime, and he had to crane his neck to look up at her. “I thought you were a knight now.”

“I _am_ a knight,” Brienne growled.  She contemplated punching him again, but Bronn’s face softened, his pale blue eyes holding her own.

“Then get down to King’s Landing and _do_ what knights do.”

Brienne shook her head, not understanding what he meant.

Bronn grinned.  “Go save your fucking princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wacky, here's some Bronn-punching for you, thanks for the idea! Part three coming soon :)


	5. OMG YMB (3/4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arrrggh! I'm so sorry; I actually fell asleep sitting up on my couch last night while trying to finish this. I'm an oathbreaker, shame shame shame. Anyway, here's the third part :) Thanks for reading and commenting!

The city was burning.  The Red Keep was aflame, huge spirals of hot red fire shooting from the tops of the towers.  Drogon wheeled and dove in the air, laying waste to everything below, while the few scorpions that were still operational fired bolt after bolt at him.  Daenerys wasn’t on Drogon, Brienne could see that much, but otherwise the entire battle was in too much disarray to make anything of it. Bronn steered clear of most of it, entering through the battered-down Gate of the Gods and the darting into an alleyway that wasn’t even wide enough to stand two abreast.

They entered the Red Keep through a secret tunnel connected to a brothel on the Street of Silk.  It was empty due to the battle, the workers most likely tucked away in some hiding place. Bronn went to the basement, rolled a barrel of ale off a trap door then opened it.  He grabbed a torch and climbed down the ladder, Brienne following behind him. She had to angle her body just so to fit it through the hole in the floor, her armor scraping against the floorboards.

At the bottom was a locked iron door.  Bronn knelt down before it and pulled some tools from his pocket and began picking the lock.

“Every castle in every corner of Westeros has a secret passage to a whore house.  Highborns are so predictable. Rich fuckers marrying for money and alliances instead of love.  Then they turn around and spend that money on whores. And I think we’ve all seen how long those alliances really last.”

The lock clicked and then the iron door swung open, its well-oiled hinges moving in silence.

“Alright, this could get bad,” Bronn said as he checked his weapons then hauled some items out of his travel bag.  It was a set of leather armor and a small dagger. “You can’t wear that in there,” Bronn said, gesturing to her heavy blue breastplate.  “It’s going to be too hot with all the fire for plate, and besides, this is going to be close-quarters fighting. You want to be quick on your feet.  Put this on,” Bronn said and shoved the boiled leather into her hands. She did as he said and tucked her own armor into a dark corner. She’d come back for it if she could.  While she shrugged into the leathers, Bronn handed the dagger to her as well. It was nothing special, she noted as she turned it over in her hands. “And this, keep it at your back.  It’s saved me more than once when I’ve been in a tight spot.”

Brienne nodded and they moved into the tunnel together.  Bronn closed the iron door behind them and then the torch was the only light they had.  The cobblestones of the floor were uneven beneath her boots and she had to duck down occasionally so she wouldn’t bump her head on the ceiling.  Gradually, she could feel the tunnel going down, then up, then down again until finally another iron door appeared around a bend. Bronn put his hand to the door, then looked at her.

“It’s hot.  There’ll be a lot of smoke and fire in there.  Don’t lose yourself, and if you can’t breath, get low to the ground.”  Then Bronn picked the lock and listened at the door. Once he was satisfied that no one was just on the other side, he opened it a crack and peered out.  Brienne put her hand on his shoulder and leaned over him to do the same. An empty hallway lay before them.

“You look for Jaime.  I’d check the queen’s quarters if I were you.  The throne room’s collapsed from what I saw earlier.  Take a left; that will bring you into Maegor’s Holdfast.  It’s a castle of its own within the Red Keep, and you’ll have to cross a drawbridge to get in.  Be careful there, its well guarded. Then just keep climbing.”

“What are you going to do?” Brienne asked.  Adrenaline began to charge through her veins as smoke wafted into the tunnel and red flames danced on the stone.  She would be facing something very different than she had at Winterfell. Tonight she would fight living men and battle through fire instead of ice.

“I’m going to find the little brother,” Bronn replied.  “And whatever you do,  _ don’t _ fight the Mountain.  He’s too powerful to take on my yourself.  Steer clear of him, hear me?”

Brienne nodded.  If she could avoid him, she certainly would.

“Alright then, good luck, and if I don’t make it out of here, tell the boys I’m sorry.”

 

Brienne moved as quietly as she could down the halls and corridors, careful to keep her breathing calm and her footsteps light.  Then she reached a point that she thought was impassable. It was a narrow hallway with wooden beams lining the ceiling and tapestries on the walls.  One was of King Robert, another of King Joffrey, and a third of King Tommen. Everything was burning, King Robert’s tapestry nearly scorched beyond recognition.  The entire passage was filled with flame, but beyond it she could see that it opened up into a large chamber. With no shield to protect her from the flames, she took a deep breath and charged into them.  Heat engulfed her. The very air itself was too hot to breath, and it scorched into her skin, singed her eyebrows, and nearly made her fall to her knees. But she pushed forward, never slowing, because that would only mean death, and finally she burst out the other side of the wall of flames, coughing and eyes burning, but once she rubbed the smoke from them, she saw a dire scene laid out before her.

Arya Stark sat on her heels, hunched over a battered body on the floor.  The face was obscured, but then Brienne saw another corpse laying on the drawbridge to the holdfast.  It was enormous, encased in the Queensguard regalia, and the body itself was torched, head missing, chopped off in a battle to the death.  Just charred skin and pale grey bone were left of the Mountain.

“Brienne?” Arya asked in a soft voice.  “Brienne, please. Help me!” Brienne realized then that it was Sandor laying in her lap.  His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, and she saw his leg was mangled. Blood pooled beneath him, too much blood.

“Give me the laces from your boot, quickly,” Brienne said.  Arya was in shock, skin pale and pupils dilated. It took her a moment to react, but she did and Brienne looked down at the gory mess that had been Sandor’s leg.  He would lose the whole thing, if he managed survived the blood loss. Brienne cinched the laces around his thigh and pulled hard, harder than Arya ever could have.  Once she’d done that, there was nothing more she could do to help, and she’d already been delayed too long.

“Where is Jaime?” Brienne asked.  When Arya didn’t respond, she took the girl’s chin in her hand and jerked her face up.  “He’s in danger; where is he?”

“He’s up there,” Sandor finally answered, pointing weakly to the staircase just beyond the drawbridge.  Sandor and Arya had eliminated the last of the Queensguard, the Mountain himself, so now all Brienne needed to do was climb up the steps before it was too late.  As she crossed the bridge, she looked down into the chasm below, and there, floating in the murky water was the Mountain’s head. It almost looked alive still, and then it  _ blinked  _ at her, and the mouth began to move, but no sound came out.  The horrific image only spurred her to climb faster.

 

She was panting with exertion when she rounded the final curve in the stone staircase.  The Queen’s chambers opened up in front of her. Tattered curtains hung over a doorway at the top of a wide marble stairway.  The Queen’s chambers lay beyond them. Brienne gripped the hilt of Oathkeeper and crept up the stairs to the room.

At first, she didn’t know what she was looking at.  Hundreds of clay pots stood stacked against every wall--was this some storeroom?--but then she saw a small figure standing on a bed in the corner of the room--Cersei.  She wore her crown and a dress of pale pink with intricate golden lions embroidered on it. Brienne had never been one to take note of such things, but she knew she’d seen  _ this _ dress before.  It was the same one Cersei had worn for King Joffrey’s wedding, and it was burned into Brienne’s head due to the conversation they’d had that day.  She would never forget how beautiful Cersei was then, and how silly she’d made her feel. This dress was so different than the black outfit Cersei had worn in the Dragon Pit, and it sent a chill down Brienne’s spine. 

Jaime lay sprawled across the foot of the bed, bleeding from the head, unconscious, but  _ alive _ , oh he was alive.  She could see his chest rise and fall, and occasionally his fingers would move, as if he were having a dream.

Cersei held a lit taper candle in her delicate hand.  She’d startled when Brienne had first appeared, but now she seemed to relax.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, her face unreadable.  “I thought it was someone come to rape me to death.  That’s what they did to Elia Martell, you know.”

Brienne shook her head.  “Our men won’t do that.” It was a knee-jerk reaction, and it already sounded false in her ears.

“Some of them would.  You should know that by now.  There are bad men and women everywhere.  You think that Unsullied commander would show restraint after what I did to his little plaything?  You think Daenerys Targaryen, the Mad King’s daughter, would show restraint?”

“Cersei, the battle is lost.  Surrender and I will see to it that you are treated as a prisoner should be and given a fair trial.”

Cersei laughed then shook her head.  “I know the battle is lost, you dumb cow, but I will not be leaving this room.  I am prepared to die here, with Jaime. You just happened to interrupt me.” Cersei moved the candle, gesturing around the room, the flame flickering.  Then Brienne gasped. All those jars were full of wildfire, and Cersei meant to kill herself and take Jaime along with her.

“Don’t think too hard, I know its taxing for your brain.  And stop panting; you sound like a heifer in heat. Is that what you sound made when my brother fucked you?  I never knew he wanted to sleep with an animal.”

Anger and embarrassment flared in her chest, but she knew Cersei was trying to goad her into action, into acting on impulse rather than duty.

“Cersei please, Jaime is still alive.  Just step down from there, I will get you both to safety.  I swear it, on my honor as a knight.”

“A knight?”  Cersei scoffed. “ Why do you get to be a knight when no other woman can?  Did he knight you before or after he fucked you?”

“What?  No that’s not why he did it.”  Of that, Brienne was certain. She deserved her knighthood.

“No, perhaps not.”  Cersei raised the taper towards Brienne.  “Come closer, just a step, no further.” Brienne obeyed, anything to get her closer to Jaime.  Cersei tilted her head to the side, studying Brienne’s face. “In this light you could almost be a beauty.  You do have lovely eyes, like the ocean. Or sapphires.” Brienne expected her words to turn into a taunt, but there was no menace in Cersei’s eyes, more so a dawning of some realization.  “You should hate me,” she continued. “In your position I would cut me down with that sword my brother gave you.”

No.  She’d cut Stannis down without a trial; she wouldn't do it again.  As a knight it was not her duty to pass judgement, but to be just in her own actions, to protect the innocent, to be merciful.  She could hear the vows in her head.

“Cersei, I will not kill you.”

Cersei swallowed, and her hand trembled, making the light from the taper dance on the stone walls.  She looked like she was in physical pain, a grimace on her face, eyes watering.

“It’s  _ you _ ,” Cersei whispered..

“What?” Brienne said, lost.

“It’s been you all along, and I could never see it.  When I was young, a woods witch told me that someone, younger and more beautiful, would one day come to take everything I hold dear.”  Cersei’s eyes glanced down to Brienne’s belly. Fear struck Brienne’s heart. Cersei couldn’t possibly know, could she? Brienne herself had only just begun to suspect it.  Without thinking, Brienne’s left hand moved to cover her abdomen.

Cersei sneered, her face twisting in anger and pain, and then she held the taper up.  “Well, you are welcome to die with us then.”

“No!” Brienne yelled.  Cersei turned to toss the taper at the clay pots, aiming to ignite the entire room in an inferno.  Brienne was too far away to reach her, but then Jaime’s left hand shot out and grabbed Cersei’s ankle.  He yanked her down onto the bed. The taper fell into the sheets, setting them ablaze with green flame. Cersei must have soaked them in wildfire foo, but the clay pots had yet to explode.

The green flames were hotter than any forge Brienne had ever felt, and an acrid smell filled the air, stinging her eyes and burning her nostrils.  She could barely see, but then she caught sight of Jaime’s golden hand draped off the side of the bed. She charged forward and grabbed his arm, feeling her skin blister.  With every last bit of strength she had, she pulled him bodily off the bed, sending the two of them sprawling on the floor. Cersei’s silhouette vanishing in the flames as the fire started to spread across the floor, creeping closer to the jars lined along the walls.

Brienne hauled herself to her feet and then mustered all the strength she had left.  She squatted down and grabbed Jaime, then slung him over her shoulders so he draped across them like a shawl.  She groaned as she pushed herself up and then ran for the stairs, taking them as quickly as she dared, praying she was fast enough.

She reached the drawbridge at the bottom of the spiral staircase and found Sandor and Arya still there.  Arya looked up at her and her eyes bugged out of her skull when she saw that Brienne was capable of carrying a full-grown man over her shoulders.

“There’s wildfire up there, and it’s about to explode,” Brienne gasped, trying to catch her breath.

“Get up!” Arya screamed down at Sandor who was pale but still conscious.  The blood had stopped gushing from his mangled leg below the tourniquet Brienne had applied.  Sandor groaned and waved her off. “No, get up you coward. I’m not leaving you to die here, please, get up!”  Arya began to cry and beat her fists against Sandor’s huge chest.

Sandor looked up at Arya, a wistful gleam in his eyes.  Then his face hardened and he roared as he stood up. Arya grabbed his arm, trying to support him.  Green flames exploded from the bottom of the spiral staircase, and Brienne ran out of Maegor’s Holdfast, Arya and Sandor on her heels, just as the drawbridge went up in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on a scene taken from Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. Pippin is my favorite hobbit--he matures so much throughout the story, and, for me, his scene with Denethor and Faramir is one of the best.
> 
> There's more to come--an epilogue to conclude this. I have no self-control and apparently this is a multi-chapter fic instead of a drabble :D


	6. OMG YMB (4/4)

Jaime was on the cusp of consciousness, his thoughts jumbled and full of nightmares, and his body unwilling to respond to his commands.  Slowly, he came around, but not in the pleasant way one wakes up from a good sleep, as if drifting to the surface of the ocean. This was more like clawing his way out of the ground.

He became aware that he was lying face down on a bed, head turned to the side.  The sheets smelled clean and fresh. When he cracked his eyes open, he found he had no idea where he was.  Was he in his room at the Rock? Had slept through dinner? His mother would be upset if he had. Why did he have such a horrible headache?  And his back, it burned like the worst sunburn he’d ever had.

_ No. _

It all came rushing back to him in waves, crashing against him, each more painful than the last.  He’d tried to stop Cersei, to get her to surrender, to stop this madness before the entire city went up in flames.  Children would die in their mother’s arms, he’d told her, but she’d just shaken her head, as if she had no concept of what that felt like, as if she couldn’t remember Joffrey dying in her arms, as if Myrcella dying in his arms had been  _ nothing. _

Then she’d sent the Mountain after him again, and this time there was no bluff.  The Hound and Arya Stark joined the fight, and thank the gods for that, because without them he would have been cleaved in two.

Something had happened, he couldn’t remember exactly what but his head had been smashed.  Then nothing. Blackness. Until he’d heard Brienne’s voice, strong and sure and so brave.  He’d clung viciously to her voice, willing himself to stay conscious, and then when he’d wrapped his hand around Cersei’s ankle, bony and cutting, he’d pulled hard.  He couldn’t let Brienne die there with them.

Her hands on him,  Rough yet gentle. The smell of her hair and the sound of her breathing.  Fire. And then nothing.

It was too much, and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

 

The next time he woke, it was much more pleasant.  He was lying in bed on his back, head on a pillow, alone in a small room with smooth, whitestone walls and a large window that looked out over the ocean.  The water was a brilliant deep blue and stretched on for as far as he could see. Fresh sea air blew in through the window, ruffling his hair. His headache was more of a gentle throbbing than an all-consuming pain now.  The burns on his back still felt hot, but they were freshly bandaged and salved.

Then, without the preamble of a courtesy knock, the door swung open.  A tall, lanky man stood in the doorway. He was older than Jaime, perhaps in his sixth or seventh decade, and he had silver hair that he wore slicked back from his face.  His skin was weathered to a deep tan, and when his dark eyes settled on Jaime, giving him a once-over, Jaime suddenly felt very young and foolish.

“Good morning,” the man said as he strode across the room, long legs bringing him efficiently to the bedside.  He sat down in a chair facing Jaime, perfect posture, back straight and feet planted firmly on the floor. Gods, he looked like Brienne.

“Where am I?” Jaime asked, but he couldn’t stop himself from hoping that he already knew the answer.

“Tarth, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime swallowed down a lump in his throat.  “Brienne?”

“My daughter is not here at the moment, though she is well.”  The Evenstar leaned forward a bit to study Jaime’s face. “I’m sure you’ve surmised it already, but I am Lord Selwyn, Brienne’s father.”  He glowered at Jaime, and all of the angst and horror that had been rattling around in Jaime’s brain was suddenly replaced with a much more manageable yet still unpleasant emotion--childlike shame.  It was as if his own father had come back from the grave to reprimand him about something.

“I’m sorry,” Jaime blurted out.  “I love Brienne, and couldn’t let her come with me.”

“You should know by now that no one can tell my daughter what to do.”

“I know,” Jaime said and sighed, “gods do I know, but I couldn’t let her suffer any more for me.”

“That is not your choice to make, and fortunately for you my daughter is strong-willed and came after you anyway.”  Selwyn rose to his feet, indicating he’d had enough of the conversation. “Ser Jaime, you are a guest here, free to leave at any time.  Brienne told me you may want to leave for Casterly Rock as soon as you woke up. Is that the case?”

“Is my brother…?”

“No, Lord Tyrion is alive and well, trying to settle matters in King’s Landing.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere.  When will Brienne be back?”

“The council will be over in three days.”

Three days.  He could make it three days.  He’d need three days to come up with something to say to keep her from killing him on the spot.

 

Three days later, Jaime stood on the docks outside Evenfall Hall watching as a galleon flying Tarth sails pulled into the harbor.  He was at the end of a line of people waiting to officially welcome the Evenstar’s daughter back to her home. By his position in line which was very far away from the front of it, he estimated he ranked somewhere between the stable boys and the fishmongers.

But nothing could dull his joy at seeing Brienne stride off the ship.  She embraced her father and he gave her a kiss on the forehead, being tall enough to reach without a stepstool.  As Brienne moved down the line of people, Jaime couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps she would hate him for the rest of her life, but there she was, alive and well, with her father again.  She was beautiful, dressed in a fine blue tunic and grey pants, her hair whipped up from the sea air. Jaime loved when her hair looked disheveled, though he knew she hated it. She wanted every piece in perfect order at all times, and he’d prided himself in making than damned near impossible for her to do during their time they’d spent together in Winterfell after the battle.

Finally she reached him, and she looked neither pleased nor angry to see him.  She simply gave him a formal nod. “Ser Jaime,” she said. “I’m glad to see you have recovered from your injuries.”  So that’s how it was going to be. He could play this game for the rest of his life and still die happy.

“Ser Brienne, it is good to see you again.  I know I am not the fighter I used to be,” he said, and Brienne’s lips twitched at that familiar phrase, “but I offer my sword in the service of House Tarth.  Please, accept me as your humble man-at-arms,” Jaime said and then knelt before her. He’d flustered her--perfect. And she couldn’t very well turn him down in front of all these people.  But as the moment stretched on into a gaping void of silence, he began to wonder if she  _ would _ in fact turn him away.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he looked up at her from his knee.  That seemed to do it.

“Tarth accepts your sword, Ser Jaime.”  Then she moved on before Jaime could even get off his knee.  Excellent, she couldn’t get rid of him now.

 

As the weeks passed and Jaime fell into his role on Tarth, his relationship with Brienne improved bit by bit.  She seemed unwilling to speak with him much in private, but when she did, they managed to get some of their old banter back.  But Jaime could feel a wall between them. They never touched, save for the time when Jaime pretended to trip while they were walking on the ramparts together and he got Brienne to reach out and grab his arm.  Quite a cheap trick, but the feel of her fingers on him for just a moment was worth it. He could live like this. Tarth was beautiful, and even the thought of suffering at arms-distance for the rest of his life was a lovely proposition, as long as it was with Brienne.

Then one day, there was a feast.  Jaime asked Lord Selwyn’s permission to escort Brienne down to the main hall, and then fussed infront of his looking glass for some time, getting his beard trimmed just right and his hair to lay just so.  Then he went to Brienne’s room and knocked.

When she opened the door, she looked just as she always did, and it would always be the most beautiful thing Jaime had ever seen.  She had Oathkeeper strapped to her hip, hair slicked back, and a confused expression on her face.

“Nice sword,” Jaime said and gave her a little smile.

She sighed and then smiled back, just a bit.  “Yours isn’t bad either.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your father has given me permission to escort you to the feast tonight. “  Jaime held out his arm for her to take. She took his hand instead, and Jaime felt his throat closing up. “Brienne, I love you,” he rasped.  He’d told her a handful of times before this, while walking the castle or the dockside market, but he’d never had the courage to say it without some little joke attached to it.  Something like, “you underestimate my abilities to love a woman from afar; I can do this for the rest of my life.”

“I love you too, Jaime.  So much it scares me.”

“Brienne,” he said and pulled her into his arms.  “I swear to you I will never push you away again. I’m sorry, I was so scared and lost and I couldn’t let you die for me.”

“I know.  I understand.”  She shuddered in his arms then leaned back to look at him.  There was a hint of tears in her eyes, but her face was relaxed, finally at ease, and she gave him a real smile.  That beautiful soul-crushing smile she’d had right after she’d been knighted. Jaime put his hand to the side of her face and flicked his eyes down to her lips.

Brienne leaned forward and kissed him softly.  It felt like peace, like relief, like happiness.  Then she pulled back, a lovely blush covering her cheeks, and they went down to the feast together.

 

That evening, as the feast concluded, Brienne and her father left the great hall together, speaking about some naval issue or another.  Jaime had been hoping to be invited back to bed with Brienne tonight, if for nothing more than to sleep in her arms, or at the foot of her bed, or on the floor, with or without a blanket.  Anything. But instead he was left alone, sitting in front of the fire with a flagon of wine. And two glasses.  _ Hmm.  Perhaps I should stick to the tried and true method. _

After mustering up some liquid courage, Jaime took the flagon and glasses to Brienne’s room and knocked on the door.  She opened it and couldn’t suppress a smirk as she recognized his pathetic attempts at wooing her.

They sat together at the table before the fire.  He went to pour her a glass of wine, but her hand darted out to cover the cup.  He laughed and put the flagon down, then took her hand in his to move it out of the way.

“Come now, you know how this game goes,” Jaime said and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.

“I don’t think I will be drinking tonight.”  Brienne said, then turned her hand over so she could hold his in hers.  “Or for quite some time.”

Jaime’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead.  Was she saying what he thought she was saying?  It would be too good to be true.

“You’re…?”

“With child, yes.  And it's sure to be quite a difficult, stubborn and foolish child, so if you would like to help me raise it…”  Brienne was trying to be flippant, but Jaime could see she was finally letting her guard down, putting her heart out there for him to do as he would with it.  To break it or reject it or accept it.

“I want nothing more than to be with you, Brienne.  And this news is more than I could have ever hoped for.”  Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and she stood up then leaned down to kiss him deeply, taking his face in her hands and he let out a whimper against her mouth.

“Let’s go to bed,” Brienne said, and then they climbed into bed together, eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate the comments, and I hope you enjoyed this extended drabble :D Also, I think every time I think of or write Selwyn, he takes on a different appearance in my head. I hope we get to see more of him eventually, if not show then in the books.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


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